A Fight for Freedom
by speechlessbrowneyes213
Summary: A history project turns into a trip to the past for three teens who travel back to America's beginning. Who else does Annabelle (OC) find but Alfred Jones. Revolutionary War!Alfred x OC. Chapter 3 is Hetalia related, 2 and 4 are not, but you should read it anyway. Do it.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

***Authors Note* please read**

**Okay, so this is my history midterm that me and two of my friends wrote. This is the introduction, but there are three chapters and an epilogue. I'm only planning on posing mine, because it's relevant to Hetalia and the other aren't. If you are interested in the other parts, tell me and I can post them (they're really good in my opinion). That's all for now, I hope you like it! **

"The history project will require you all to work in groups of three," Mr. Gordon says, looking around at the class, most of whom are slumped back in their seats looking bored. Even Annabelle, who kind of likes the subject, just can't focus on her teacher's monotone voice. "You will have to make a video about the beginning of our great nation."

Nathan rolls his eyes, unimpressed with the 'patriotism' in the teacher's words.

Kailee looks up briefly to check that the teacher isn't looking, then takes out her phone to start texting her friends.

"I have already picked your groups," Mr. Gordon announces, while everyone groans. "So - without further ado -" and he starts listing out names.

All the students listen absent-mindedly, waiting to hear their name.

"Annabelle Ashe, Kailee Hudson, and Nathan Krugle," continues Mr. Gordon as three heads perk up automatically when they heard their names.

Once he has finished, Mr. Gordon hands them all a piece of paper outlining the details of the assignment and some websites that might be helpful to them.

"Well, you know what to do. Get to it," he says, then sits down behind his desk and begins to grade some papers.

There is a general shifting noise as everyone moves their desks to sit by their partners. Annabelle turns her desk around so that she is facing Kailee and Nathan.

"So… um… hi," says Annabelle hesitantly. She looks around at her partners. Kailee is texting on her phone and not even looking at her, and Nathan, slumped in his chair, has his Red Sox cap pulled low over his eyes and appears to be asleep.

"So… do you guys have any ideas for the video?" Annabelle tries again. Neither Kailee nor Nathan says anything.

Annabelle sighs, realizing she is going to have to take control of this whole project.

"Okay, so why don't we look at some sites on the computer?" she asks.

At the word 'computer', Kailee looks up. "Great," she says. "I can check Twitter."

That isn't exactly what Annabelle has in mind, but she decides to agree. "Okay," she says, and she and Kailee head over toward the row of computers in the back of the class. A minute later, Nathan flips up his cap and realizes they are gone. He slouches over to join them at the computers, hands in his pockets.

Kailee logs on to Twitter at the next computer while Annabelle looks up one of the sites that Mr. Gordon had recommended.

"Click here to make history come alive," she reads aloud, her finger hovering over the mouse.

Kailee briefly looks up from Twitter, and Nathan glances at the screen as he adjusts his hat.

All three of them watch as Annabelle clicked on the button.

For one second, everything is normal. Annabelle glances down at her notebook and picked up a pencil, ready to take notes. Kailee takes out her phone and starts texting again. Nathan pulls his cap over his eyes and closes them.

Then, slowly but surely, they start to disappear. They are fading, their bodies disappearing. But before they, or anyone else, could notice and call for help, it was too late…

They had gone.


	2. Chapter 2 - Let Freedom Ring (haha pun)

***Authors Note***

**THIS IS NOT HETALIA! But you should still read it! **

Kailee's POV

There's nothing more annoying to me than when I have an important text message to send and all of the sudden, my phone loses service. Sure, it's school, and the service is spastic at times. But it usually doesn't go away completely. I press retry once, two, three times, hoping that'll help the service come back. But it doesn't. Of course.

Huffing, I go to shove the phone back in my pocket. But my pockets are covered by a colonial style dress, similar to one I'd dress my dolls in when I was little. Then I notice that the boring, while tiled floor of the classroom has been replaced by a dull green carpet of slowly growing grass.

Immediately. my head shoots up. I'm no longer in my high school anymore, but outside on the outskirts of what looks to be an old-fashioned city. There's no cities like this nowadays. I know something's up. "Haha, very funny, this is the most elaborate scheme you guys have ever come up with!" I call out, assuming it's something bizarre my prankster friends have put together. However, nobody responds. Maybe I'm dreaming, then?

I'm about to pinch myself when I see a moving blob out of the corner of my vision. As I turn to look at it, I notice it's really a very angry looking pig, staring me down through it's beady little pig eyes.

Having no idea what to do, I decide to run farther into the city, assuming it'll be afraid or something and stop. But it follows me, running faster than I can run on the muddy ground, and headbutts me right into a trough. I fall head over heels into the water inside, soaking the top of my dress as I struggle to stay out of the water as much as I can.

I try to leave as quick as possible without anyone noticing my pathetic state, but I guess I made a bigger noise than I thought because the lady of the house comes rushing out and looks at me. "Are you alright, dear? What happened?" she asks immediately, giving me a hand out of the pig's water. I swear, the stupid animal smirks at me.

What did happen? I don't know what to say. I'm not even sure what happened. All I know was that that fall hurt, and I'm definetly not asleep. "I was up at the top of that hill over there and the pig chased me down and I tripped and fell," I explain quickly, pointing over to where I first stood.

The woman nods. "Where are you from? I haven't seen you around before," she asks, innocently, examining me for cuts or scrapes.

"I- Uh- Well- The other side of town. W-we moved here not too long ago," I stutter, not sure how the people from around here talk. I don't even know where I am. Or more specifically, when I am.

Sadly, I don't completely convince the woman. "What were you doing over here, then?" she questions, squinting an eye.

I have no idea how to answer that. What do people from this place do? Drink tea, maybe? Ride horses? Own businesses? "I was going to see my uncle, and I was on my way back when I thought I could cut through here and I didn't know you had a pig and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trespass," I ramble, not knowing what else to do. It's uncomfortable. I don't usually act like this normally, but in an unfamiliar place like this, I think acting polite is probably the best way to go. I look down at my shoes, the toes of my combat boots peeking out from under the dress. At least I chose good footwear this morning.

Finally, the woman smiles at me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Tis alright. I can tell it was an accident," she reassures. "What's your name, child?"

I want to huff at her for calling me a child- I'm 15 for heaven's sake- but she asks in such a kind way that I can hold myself back. "Kailee," I respond, looking up at the lady. She's actually not too old, maybe in her late twenties, early thirties, but she also looks wise.

"Kailee," the woman repeats. "That's a unique name. I'd love to name my daughter that if I were to be blessed with another one," she states quietly, and I wonder if she knows she's talking aloud. "Well, I am Mrs. Smith. Would you like to come inside and dry off? I wouldn't want to be responsible for letting you get a chill," she offers.

A gust of wind blows against the barn, and I start to shiver. I know all about stranger danger and stuff like that, but I'm just dreaming, right? So it's okay, "That would be nice. Thank you," I respond, letting her lead me into her home.

It's a small cottage, from what I can tell. We enter into a kitchen, where there's a fire going. "You can sit on that chair by the fire," she tells me, walking around the table to some vegetables laid out.

"Thank you," I reply, taking a seat. We sit in awkward silence for a minute before I remember she mentioned something about children. "You said you had a daughter? Any other children?" I ask. "If I'm not prying," I add quickly, turning to look at her.

Mrs. Smith shakes her head. "You're a curious one, aren't you?" she jokes, a smile on her face. "Yes, I have two daughters and two sons. My two sons are the youngest."

I feel like that's a lot of children for someone so young, but I smile politely and don't make a comment. "What are their names?" I ask, watching her skirt around the kitchen.

She almost seems hesitant to tell me at first, which I guess I understand. I'm a random stranger, after all. But then she sets down the carrot she's fixing and looks at me. "Well, my oldest is Elizabeth, she is nine years old, and-" she starts, but the banging of a door interrupts her train of thought.

"Mary, you will never believe what the soldiers are doing now!" A voice exclaims from the other room. I twist my head and look through the doorway to see a man, probably about the same age as Mrs Smith.

She goes back to chopping carrots, putting them in an iron pot. "You are home early, dear," she comments. "What are they doing now?"

He huffs and looks up, right at me. "Who is that?" He asks, a nervous tremor to his voice.

I almost speak, but Mary speaks up before I get a word out. Right. Kids in these times were supposed to be seen, not heard. "This is Kailee, John. She fell into our trough and she's just warming up before she heads home," she explains. Then she turns to me. "You should probably get home, child. We wouldn't want your mother to worry," Mary suggests.

I have no idea where to go, but I get the feeling it's not a suggestion so I stand up, curtsey (people do that still, right?), and say thank you before scurrying out. However, I'm barely out the the door before John starts yelling. It sounds interesting, and I never can resist the latest gossip so I position myself underneath the back window, right where I can hear.

"-They went into Robert's home with a blank piece of paper they called a warrant. Then they forced him to stand out in the shed with his wife and children while they took as much as they could carry. And the king supports this!" He rages, his voice loud.

It's much harder to hear Mary's soft, calming voice. "There's not much we can do about it. I hope they don't come to our home."

I had heard about this before, in class. I couldn't quite remember what they were called. The writs of something?

"I've been thinking, and I do not think I want to support the king anymore," He announces defiantly. "We're not treated as British citizens anymore. They have no respect for us anymore! They've already created taxes on written things and molasses and interfered with our trade."

There's a short silence, and I suppose Mary is calming him down. "You can't say things like that so loud. You never know who's listening," she states harshly.

I stifle a giggle. "I guess you're right, I should be quieter. But there's no freedom here anymore, and I've made up my mind. I no longer support the British," he says, quieter now.

That's when I remember what they're called. "Writs of Assistance!" I exclaim, covering my mouth as soon as I say it. I have to leave now. But my head is so heavy, and my limbs feel like lead…

"Do you hear that?" John says, and I hear it but I can't react. Eventually, everything goes white. What happened? Am I dead? Asleep? And where the heck did my phone go? I must have dropped it running down the hill.

After a terrifying moment, the white fog fades and and I gain some motion in my limbs. It's nighttime now, in some other city at, I assume, some other time. I look down at my clothes, now changed from the dress to a flowy, white shirt and beige capri pants. I scoff and put a hand to my hair, which has been pulled away from my face in a ponytail. I must look like a boy.

A group of people dressed like me go running down the street past me, all besides one who sees me sitting on the ground and hangs back. It's a younger boy, one who looks to be nine or ten. "What are you doing on the ground?" he asks, a whistle in his voice because of two missing teeth. "Aren't you gonna come help us?"

I push myself up, still a bit lightheaded. "Where are you going?" I ask, leaning heavily against the wall until I get my balance back.

He bounces, a grin spreading across his freckled face. "We're gonna go dump tea in the harbor, Papa says! To fight against the British and the King and the Tories," he explains.

"Tories?" I ask, looking down at him.

He nods. "Yeah, all the supporters of the king. Papa and Mama do not really like him," he comments. I guess a Tory is another word for a Loyalist. "My name's Edward, by the way," he greets, putting out his hand for me to shake.

I put mine out too. I like this kid. He's got spunk. "I'm Kailee. Nice to meet you," I reply.

Edward tilts his head and gives me a funny look. "Sounds like a girl's name," he comments.

Raising an eyebrow, I cross my arms. "I am a girl."

My new little friend doesn't seem to understand. "My Papa and Mama wouldn't let my sisters come down here. They said it wasn't ladylike," he accuses.

I don't really know what to say, so I just give him an intimidating look. Luckily, I don't have to do it for long because a man runs over to him and grabs his arm. "Edward, you cannot walk away like that! You earned your right to be here, and if you are not going to do what I say I will send you back home! I should send you home now!" He whispers angrily, tugging on the boy's arm. Edward looks down at his feet.

Then he looks up at me. A bit shocked by his sudden outburst, I almost jump back. However, I keep my balance and look him in the eye. Giving a polite nod, I greet, "Hello, sir."

The father looks me over. "And who are you?" he asks, glaring.

I debate saying my real name, but then I remember what Edward said about his siblings, and I want to go check this whole tea in the harbor thing out. "Carter, Carter Mullens. I'm going to the harbor," I lie, acting as calm as I can.

The father raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything further on the subject. "Hurry up then," he simply mutters, walking angrily.

I hang back, not wanting to bother him anymore. Edward hangs back with me. "Hey, why are you guys dumping tea?" I ask. I remembered something about doing it to get more freedom from England as part of a revolution or something, but I never actually knew why. If I was gonna get involved, I might as well have some knowledge of what I'm doing.

He thinks for a minute before shrugging. "I heard the British wanted to ruin our colony's tea trade with the Caribbean, tea is normally much cheaper coming from there," he tells me, almost skipping along. He seems oddly excited for a revolution.

"How are they ruining it?"

He kicks a stone across the path and it clangs against a metal bucket. His father turns around and glares at us. "By making British tea cheaper than the Caribbean tea," he tells me quietly.

"Edward, what are you chattering on about?" his father asks harshly, his body tense and jagged-looking. I have to admit it- he scares me a bit.

My new little friend hurries up to stand with his father. "I was just explaining why we were throwing the tea into the harbor to Carter," he replies quietly, hanging his head.

He doesn't say anything for a minute, and it's oddly silent. "Edward, do not look so unhappy. And Mr. Carter?" he asks, turning around to face me.

I forget I've changed my name for a minute, so there's an awkward moment of realization where I stutter and hurry to catch up to him. "Yes sir?" I ask, changing my pace to keep up with him.

He scrutinizes me again. "You really do not know that much about the happenings between us and the British, do you?" he asks, softer this time.

I shrug. "I know we're bothered by them because they keep giving us unfair taxes, and now they've lowered the price on tea and it's bothered people. But I don't know why," I admit, hanging my head.

From out of the corner of my eye I can see him nodding. "I would not expect parents to talk about politics around their daughters," he reflects.

I look up abruptly. He knows I'm a girl? I suppose he would, and I'm kind of grateful that I don't look that masculine. But it's just getting interesting! I can't get kicked out now. "Please, let me come with you. I want to fight, and I want to know what is going on," I beg, clasping my hands together.

He doesn't say anything at first, just looks ahead towards the harbor where I can see groups of people crowded by the dock of a large ship. "I won't send you home," he comforts. "You can stay on the dock with Edward," he tells me, patting his sons' head.

Edward frowns deeply and crosses his arms, pouting. "I want to throw things off the ship!"

I stifle a laugh at Edward's childishness, then nod at his father. There's no way I'm staying on the docks. I've got to get on that ship and be a part of the revolution! But I've got the feeling the man standing next to me isn't going to let me go so easily, and I guess it would be better not to argue.

"Alright," I agree, "But can you please tell me the details about what's going on and why we're doing this?"

He sighs. "Fine. We have an-" he pauses for a second, looking thoughtful. "Agreement with an island south from here where they ship us cheap tea. Now the British wants to sell cheap tea as well, and because of the prices less people are going to buy from the other merchants. The British are hurting these merchants and ruining our economy. And that's why we're throwing the tea into the harbor, to protest this act that is hurting our business," he concludes, speaking softer as we reach the group of people.

When I'm standing here in the middle of it all, it's so much more interesting than in class! I actually have something to do.

"Stay put," the man commands, putting out a hand. Edward and I nod obediently.

Quickly, the little boy goes back to crossing his arms. "I am very upset he won't let me go on the ship," he pouts, looking like a puppy.

I crouch slightly so I'm more his height. "Do you want to sneak on the ship? Once your father has gone on with the rest of the crew?" I ask, a mischievous glint in my eye.

Edward gasps. "You mean it?" the boy asks eagerly, bouncing.

Nodding, I stand back up. "Of course, I want to go on that ship just as bad as you do," I admit.

Suddenly, he stops his bouncing. "Won't I get in trouble?" he asks, concerned.

I shrug. "I'll take all the blame for it if you do. Just don't tell your dad."

He nods, and we stand there for a while in silence. I have no idea what we should talk about. Everything I would normally have a conversation about he wouldn't be interested in or wasn't invented yet.

Finally, the men make their way over to the ship, some disguised as American Indians. It leaves a small crowd, not too big but big enough that we can escape. We wait until most of the men are on board and then in the chaos, I grab Edward's hand and tug him along with me, sneaking in the shadows to the boardwalk.

I'm right at the back, and I hide Edward in front of me so he's nearly hidden in the pack of men. I stand as tall as I can- which is pretty tall when you're 5'10"- and do my best to avoid Edward's dad.

I make it up the walk without too much difficulty, exhilaration flooding my veins. I fight back a grin and push Edward in the direction of a crate. "Just one, okay?" I tell him, knowing fully that if he wanted to throw another one I probably would give in.

Thankfully, he just nods and exclaims, "Wow!"

I shush him good-naturedly and stop in front of an untouched pile. "Ready to throw?" I ask, getting on one side of the crate. He's on the other side, and the pile is just as tall as he is. I laugh and get a better grip.

"Yes!" he calls.

I plant my feet firmly on the floor and count backwards from three before I start to lift. The crate is much, much heavier than I thought it would be, but with the energy I have and a little help from my little friend, I push it right over the edge into the water. Listening as it makes a satisfying splash, I immediately realize how awesome this is and go to find another crate to push.

However, a hand on my wrist startles me. I whip around, expecting to see a grown man, but it's just Edward. "Only one, remember? I don't want to get in trouble," he reminds me, and with a sigh I take a hold of his hand and pull us through the crowd, slipping down the boardwalk relatively unnoticed. When I look back, I see all the men working hard, fighting for their freedom, and I feel a strange sense of pride for knowing I helped with such a thing.

Once we're tucked back in the crowd, I turn to Edward. "That was something, wasn't it?" I ask, letting go of his arm.

He nods eagerly. "Yes, it was! I liked the part when it hit the water and made a splash!" he exclaims, imitating the water spraying the side of the boat with his hands.

"Me too," I comment, watching as the last crates are hoisted up over the side of the ship. Suddenly, I feel extremely tired, just like I did hiding at Mary's house. I must be going off somewhere again, like the last time. I pat Edward on the shoulder and look down at him. "I really have to go," I tell him, pulling away.

He grips onto my sleeve, frowning. "No, you can't go!" he exclaims.

I don't want to leave, not really. But I also don't want to pass out here, in front of everyone, and I do need to get home. Sighing, I take his hand off me and place a tea leaf in his open palm that I had found on the ship deck. "I really do, I'm sorry. But keep this," I tell him, looking him right in the eye. He's almost in tears, and I feel bad but the symptoms are getting worse, my head almost too heavy to stay up.

I hear him calling out, "Goodbye, Kailee!" before I duck behind the nearest building. It's a sad little parting, but I smile and shake my head with disbelief as I think about just how cool it was to meet Edward and be up on that ship before I collapse against the wall, letting myself go on to my next destination.


	3. Chapter 3 - Bird Cage

***Authors Note***

**This one is Hetalia! Enjoy, my friends. :) He may be a little OOC, but I had to write it for a teacher to read, so deal with it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, though I wish I did (oh how many ships would be canon)**

Annabelle's POV

Just a moment before everything went white, I was staring at a button on the brightly lit computer screen. Now, I blink my eyes as color fills my vision once more, as if doing so will drive away the fog.

It is as if I am watching a painter speed paint the landscape, beginning with the basic blues and greens, adding detail in here and there until I am looking at a masterpiece.

I close my eyes one more time, expecting the computer screen to be there with Kailee's eyes glued to her mobile device and Nathan not giving a care to the world. Instead of seeing any of that, I open my eyes once more and see that the landscape is clear and no longer painted on.

The blue, lapping waves lightly smack the legs of a dock, excess water seeping through the spaces between planks. Wooden ships line the docks, some having sailors stroll on and off. The ships farther out into the water, smudges on the water at my distance, were covered in a greedy, overpowering aura.

I slowly turn around, my eyes panning to each detail of the new surrounding. I'm not too sure if this is a dream or some trick that was played on me. _Did they manage to get me unconscious and place me on some set? But that couldn't be it… What is going on?_

By the time I faced the direction I was originally placed in, I realize I am standing on top of a hill overlooking a deep blue harbor that has reds and oranges painted on the surface, reflecting the setting sun.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" I freeze at the voice interrupting my thoughts and his warm breath tickling my ear. I whip my head around to find a boy that can't be that much older than me (_nineteen possibly?_) draped in a loose cream colored shirt that is rolled up to his elbows that made him look like William Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean (even his accent reminded you of him). The 'pirate shirt' was tucked into waist high brown capris. He wore no shoes on his feet, which to me is understandable in this kind of summer heat, but it's too dark out to be that careless…

The boy turns his head from the sky to me, his sky blue eyes finding mine. His golden blonde hair is moved slightly by the cools summers breeze The scene that is laid out before me is getting weird and a little uncomfortable. It's as if I'm in some weird chick-flick, and me and the main guy was just about to grin at the protagonist before making some type of move. Instead of that (_good thing_) he raises an eyebrow and asks, "A young girl like you should not be out so close to the enemies…unless you are an enemy, and in that case, I would have to kill you."

I'm not too sure if he's joking or not, so I don't know if I should laugh it off or be worried for my life. I decide maybe it's a better idea to just go along with him for now, "Oh, well it depends. Are you on the good side, or the bad side?"

He gives a chuckle at this, and straightens his back, puffing his chest out, "The good side of course! I'm a hero and I'll fight for our freedom against those tyrants that call themselves British!" His toothy grin is so honest and pure that I can't help but laugh. I'm not laughing at him or mocking him in anyway, his positive attitude is just so contagious.

"Well that's good, 'cause I'm on the good side too." The weird thing is, I don't even know what the sides are, but seeing as the bad side is British (that's what he said at least), this must be a colony (_who else would be speaking English and fighting against the British, right?_).

The 'hero' turns more to face me and sticks out a calloused hand, "I don't think I introduced myself. I am Alfred Jones of Boston." _Ah, so we are in America._

I take his hand and give it a little shake, "Annabelle Ashe. I'm from Boston, too"

He looks at me in disbelief, "I believe I have never heard of your family, Annabelle."

"Oh, well that would be because I moved to Philadelphia when I was ten, and that was six years ago."

"You came back to fight here?"

Sure? I don't really know how to answer these cause I have no clue what position I am in. "I guess so, we didn't really ask too many questions when we came here."

Shouts can be heard from the shore and both of our attentions are brought to them, "We should get back to camp. We don't want to become prisoners, do we?"

I give a weak laugh and wrap my arms around each other and shiver slightly. I say under my breath, "Yeah, we wouldn't want that." It's a little weird, this whole time I haven't had a panic attack since I am somewhere strange, and I haven't really even questioned it. Maybe it's the warm air, and the feeling of being outside standing on grass that makes me comfortable.

Alfred turns around and begins his way up the hill, only to turn around and call me to join him. I snap out of my momentary daze and run to catch up with him. When I reach his side, I decide to ask some real questions this time, "Could you remind me of the date?"

"June 16, 1775. The year has flown by; soon the war will be over, and we can be free!" I began to work out where I was, thinking back to the past years I have had in history class. _June 16, 1775… 1775 is the year the American Revolution really started. I must be near Boston since Alfred is here, and I doubt he would be very far away from home. Okay, so the battle of Lexington was on… April 20? 21? No April 19. That's too early in the year, so it must be a different one. What about Bunker Hill? That's… June 17, 1775!_

"A-are we… on Bunker Hill?"

"No, but you're close. We're on Breed's Hill right now. We were gonna surprise the British on Bunker, but-"

"-we decided to use Breed's to keep a height advantage, but not be right on the horizon. Now I remember" I finish his sentence, thinking back to Mr. Gordon explaining the battle the other day.

"Uh, yes… I did not expect for any of the women to know. Were you at the meeting?"

"No, sir. Intuition, I suppose." _Oh yeah, I'm from the future and I have studied your history and so I know what's gonna happen. Did I mention I'm from the future? 2014 to be exact. By the way, don't worry about the whole 2012 thing, it's a lie._

He laughs and turns towards me, still walking forward, "If that's your intuition, I think we need more men like you."

We continue to make our way up to the hill in silence, the sound of deep voices and hearty laughs growing louder as we near the top. Alfred stops short, and when I turn back to look at him, his face is a deep shade of crimson, spreading from his cheeks all of the way up to the tips of his ears. His words stumble out in a mess, "W-what happened to your clothes? Y-you really should not show off that much leg! It's really indecent!"

I look down to my clothes, seeing my outfit: cream crochet shorts (they were short enough that they only went up to the tops of my thighs), and a dark blue sleeveless top tucked into the shorts. It had been an oddly warm day in the late fall, so I had worn something light, but I guess when I was somehow magically (or I don't even know what) placed here, they hadn't given me more appropriate clothing.

I don't know what to do. I can't spill my secret, that's usually the biggest no-no in time travel (if this is even what it is, I could be asleep), to never let anyone know, mostly the future or past you. What kind of excuse can you make for this kind of situation? So I pull the lamest excuse I could think of at short notice, "I-I- my clothes were r-ruined and I didn't have enough fabric…" _Yeah, sure, that'll work._

"I cannot let you be seen by a group of men in that. So, I will find something to cover yourself with until we can find more suitable clothing for you." He begins to run into the camp before he stops and turns around again and orders me to stay put until he comes back and to not let anyone see me. So here I sit, waiting for him to return.

It doesn't take a long time to hear his thudding footsteps coming to my side. He wraps a wool blanket around my slim shoulders, saying, "Here, this should suffice for now. Follow me to the women's tent."

We walk to the top of a three-foot barricade of dirt surrounding the edge of the hill and Alfred slides down into trench for the soldiers to use for battle. I begin to crouch as if I would follow him, but he takes my hand and assists me in my descent down the small slope.

I place one of my ballet flat covered foot onto the slant and lean a little forward, letting the steepness do its job. I slide quite gracefully down most of the way, and I have grab the blanket with my unoccupied hand so it doesn't fly away, but that only makes my balance worse, so when my toe catches on a rock, I stumble a little forward into Alfred's chest.

We both gasp and cry out; a small 'Ah!' from me and an 'Oof' from Alfred. He stumbles a little backward, but manages to keep us both standing. Apologies and laughter stumble out of my mouth at the same time, and I pull a little away from Alfred to see his face red once more, but this time laughing along with me. Good thing too, I'm not too sure what I would do if he wasn't like this.

I finally took a bigger step away from him and pulled the blanket around me. I could feel the heat rising to my face, "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to do that. That was so inappropriate of me."

Alfred's laugh was still subsiding as he said, "It wasn't your fault, I forgive you. Your expression was quite priceless though."

"What do you expect? I thought I was gonna get hurt!"

"Woah, woah, I said it's okay, don't worry about it." He holds his hands up in surrender and runs up the other wall of the trench. Again, he reaches his hand down, gives a warming smile, and says, "Wanna try this again?"

I nod and take his hand. He helps me make my way up the slope and I make it up, this time without fault. "Thanks," I mutter. We are greeted by the men we heard earlier and some even ask who I am. Alfred answers them and tells them that he is bringing them to the tents with the women who cook, launder, and mend to wounds.

He knocks on the flap of the tent and calls, "Excuse me, can I have some help?"

He stands back to allow the flap to be pushed back by a woman wearing a blue-gray long dress that stopped at her mid-forearms and down by her ankles. A white apron was worn at her waist and more white could be seen from the edges of her sleeves and neck. She wore a bonnet on her head, which was a weird sight to see.

"What do you need, sir?" The woman asked, "And who is this?"

This time I took a step forward and introduced myself to them. I tell them that I was lost and my clothing was ruined.

"Oh you poor thing. Come on in and I'll get you into an extra dress we brought."

Wow. They actually bought it and were kind enough to lend a dress. "Thank you," I say, "That is very kind of you. Let me be of any assistance to you." When I'm here, I feel like I need to be really nice and proper even though I know these people aren't someone like the Queen of England, but they're so kind and I don't really know how else to act.

The woman, whose name I learned is Sarah, opened the flap of the tent to gesture me to come in. I begin to follow her when I feel a slight tug on the blanket. I turn back to Alfred, almost forgetting he was there, who look at the ground somewhere on his left and brings his right hand to rub the back of his neck, "Uh, Annabelle, before you go I wanted to tell you that if you need anything, feel free to ask any of the ladies or me. I'll be with the other soldiers but I have watch at midnight, so uh, if you can't sleep-"

"I'll know where to go." I finish, "I'll remember that. Thanks." I smile back towards him, reassuring him, and finally go into the tent only to be greeted by a few women who are giggling and watching me with curious eyes.

"He fancies you." One blurts out.

"He most definitely does. 'So if you can't sleep, feel free to find me'" Another says taking a dramatic gesture of the hand and a swooning sigh. The other girls erupt into a fit of giggles.

I can feel my face burn with embarrassment and I argued, "He does not. He was simply being kind." I close my eyes and make a little 'humph'.

"Enough, enough girls. I think we've upset her." Sarah says.

"Thank you." I finally breathe.

"She's just in denial." Sarah slides in. I gasp and look offended, but the rest of the girls laugh more and continue to tease me until Sarah finally interrupts once more, handing me dress similar to hers, "Here Annabelle, this should be your size."

I take the clothes out of her hands and go to take off my blanket, but then think, _is this alright? And what if they question my clothes? Should I just not show them?_ I suppose... "Um, should I just change here, or...?"

"Here is fine," a couple of them said. I turn away from them and start to slide out of my clothes, folding them up and placing them in a pile out of sight. After I put the clothes on I'm bombarded with questions. Who am I? Where did I come from? How did I lose my clothes? I managed to find a good story and go off of it.

I wake up and find myself staring at a canvas tent. I'm still here. For some reason I haven't thought or questioned where I am so I figure now that I have time, I might as well now.

_How did I get here? Okay let go through what happened. I was in history with and he assigned us a project and groups. I was then sitting with Kailee, one of those annoying popular girls that only cared for whatever gossip was going around and who was hot and not, and Nathan, who I don't know much about. Nathan doesn't seem like a bad kid, he just has one of those 'don't care' attitudes. He's always sleeping in class and not paying attention. I think must hate me and want to let my hard working attitude (that's what everyone says I have at least) rub off on them. That or he wants me to get a bad grade (there's no way I'm letting that happen so I figure I'll have to do all the work to make it happen). After we meet up, we go to the computers and I start researching. I go to some website and then we're disappearing. Weird. Maybe it was the website? What was it that it said it was called? 'Make history come alive' or something?_

I stop thinking and sit there. Letting the one question sink. Make history come alive. Make history come _alive_. I legitimately made history come alive by being put in a battle.

_Am I just sitting in class right now? did time stop for me or is the day going on? Is my physical body still in the seat?_ My mind rambles on and on and I start breathing a little too heavily. I need air. I get out of my 'bed' and pray that it's midnight.

Outside the air is cool with the absence of the sun and the light from the moon is surprisingly bright, guiding my way easily towards the small fire. I see a figure staring blankly into the fire. I don't know whether I should take the risk that it is Alfred, but it doesn't seem like it'd be long after midnight judging by the sky.

I creep a little closer to the fire and find the silhouette more and more familiar. I take the chance and ask, "Alfred?"

The figure lifts his head and I can see by his features by the dim light of the fire that this man is indeed Alfred. He seems a little shocked as he says, "Annabelle, I didn't actually expect you to come."

"Well you guessed wrong." I move closer and sit down next to him. "I couldn't sleep," I explain

"Bad dream?"

"No. I'm just nervous for tomorrow and couldn't fall back asleep. I mean, the battle is planned to be tomorrow, is it not?" He nods and turns to be able to face me, "Aren't you scared? They'll be attacking us with guns and cannons."

"But we are fighting back at them." His voice lowers as he says, "However, I don't like the idea that I'll be shooting at people I don't know, people may have a life and a family just like us."

"So, then why fight?"

"Someone has to do it, we can't all sit back and watch. And anyway, it's for a good cause." He sends me a reassuring smile, "We can't let them take advantage of us anymore. We're not just a colony, we are made up of mainly Englishmen."

"We should be equal, you mean?" He nods, "And yet, they think just because we aren't in their country borders they can place unfair rules and taxes that would never be placed on the people over seas."

"And that's why we need to fight for our independence. They don't listen to our requests, they just dismiss them like we don't matter. If they don't listen we have to show them we deserve it." He's right, they are like children being ignored by a pair of horrible parents that don't want to listen to the child's reason. We're like teenagers that are done with being controlled and want to be on our own. Only when teenagers fight, they end up running away, and a relatively large population of people can't really do that. They're bound by documented signatures and guarded under a British empire.

Alfred sticks a hand in his pocket, digging around for an unknown item, and pulls out a shiny piece of metal. He fiddles with the metal in his hands while he explains, "This is my symbol of freedom that my dad made in his blacksmith shop to teach me. On one side is a bird, representing what freedom truly is- being able to fly in an open sky- and on the other side is a cage that keeps the bird away from what the bird wants. We, the patriots, want the freedom of a free bird. We want to have kinds of freedom like religious and economic, but Great Britain has taken us away from the freedom of the sky and shoved us into a small cage."

"So in a sense, this revolution is our fight out of the cage." Alfred's father seems like a smart man whose intelligence passed onto his son. "Is you father here? Or is he working in his shop?"

I can see the light that usually shines in his blue eyes dim and I think I made a mistake in asking him. He takes a breath before saying, "My dad was captured by the British during the Battle of Lexington and Concord," he clenches the coin in his hand. For a boy that is always bright and cheery, it surprises me when I hear the harsh venom in his tone when he says, "And I will get him back, no matter what it takes."

I place the clenched hand of his that holds the token inside mine and give it a comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "and I know that I can't do really anything to change this, but if there's anything I can do, just tell me, 'kay?" I manage to relax his hand and open it up enough to be able to flip the coin so the cage was facing up. I look to his face when I say, "I have faith that you will free your father from his cage."

His eyes leave the fire and find mine, his mouth curling upwards, "Thank you, Annabelle."

The rest of the night we talk, about anything and everything

Rushed foot steps, orders dulled by a sleepy daze, the vibrations of thousand of feet coax me from a deep sleep. When I pry my eyelids open, I see the rushed bodies that match the footsteps. Sarah looks up from the cloth she is sorting through to me announcing, "You might want to get up. They're coming."

This is it. The day of the battle. They bring their muskets and their cannons. Red coats standing out against the green of the grass preparing for battle against the 'blue coats'.

I guess I never really expected that I would actually have to go through this, but now that it's happening, now that I see the mad swarm of people rushing to and fro, getting every man armed and ready to attack when I rush out of the tent, it's all real.

That far away feel, the kind you see in the movie when the music stops and the only sound of people in a crowd is muffled. The shot is focused on the one person, everything else blurred creating the effect of the chaos.

My heavy breathing stops when a hand grips my shoulder and turns me

to face in their direction. Alfred. He places a large hand on my forehead and asks, "Are you okay, Annabelle? You look a little faint."

"Nah, I'm fine, I'm just about to witness a battle that will one day be historic and I will be watching everyone's death, and could easily die myself knowing my luck." The sarcasm spews out of my mouth at an unhealthy rate. Honestly, Alfred looks a little taken back by my bluntness. I calm my sarcasm to stop being rude, but instead I only get more worried, "They have cannons and guns and they might shoot you. Ah! What about your dad? You have to save him. Oh no and what if-"

"Calm. Down. You're going to drop dead from just talking that fast." He gives me motions to breathe and I do, I must be strong, I mean I'm at a battle, right? He grips my shoulders a little more and says, "We will be fine. Just help the women and don't come near the battlefield, alright? I can't have you getting hurt. Now, I have to get in line."

He let's go of me and turns towards the other soldiers. There are so many of them and a couple hundred of each side will die. It's sickening to know the numbers before it happens, but it is reassuring to know we won't lose horribly. We only 'lost' because we didn't have enough ammunition and were still new at the whole 'European Warfare' thing.

The only thing I can think of to say is, "The British are coming." I don't say it too loud, just a mutter under my breath.

The British didn't really move for a while, just stood and fired, wasting their bullets. Loud blasts from the cannons echoed against the hill from the ships down in the harbor. We are sitting, waiting for them to come closer, and when they do, they bring their dark aura of death with them.

The small dots of men turn into larger shapes, making their way up the hill to a steady beat. The colonists are aiming, finger trembling with anxiety, waiting for the order. "Don't shoot 'till you see the whites of their eyes!" Someone yells. Someone important most likely. With the low amounts of ammunition we have, the shots we fire have to be worth it.

There's not much we can do right now as they are waiting, but we all watch as the two opposing forces await the coming battle. We all feel the same thing, the pounding of all of our hearts, the blood coursing its way through our veins, the loud gulp we take, knowing our fate. Finally, a shout pricks their ears, smoke rising into the air from the tip of the musket. The bullets shred through the air, finding its target. They fall. Already, before more bullets are fired, men are taken. The fight begins. Running at the enemies when they hear the order to. The bayonets on the muskets are pushed forcefully into abdomens, arms, legs, shoulders, hearts, any place that will kill or disable.

The battle field is coated with a heavy smoke, the smell of gunpowder and the underlying metallic scent of the blood that soaks into shirts, heavy coats, and the trampled ground. Bodies are strewn everywhere, the hill turned into a mess of chaos. I can't keep my eyes on one person for too long, so I'm unable to make sure Alfred alive.

When I retreat back to the tent on the other side of the hill where the women are able to stay safe, I see a familiar head of blonde hair not too far away from me, maybe ten or fifteen feet away. He's grappling with another man who only has a few inches on him. I stop to watch him, but as I am, I catch a glimpse of a red coat crouched behind a boulder, hidden away from sight, gun setting up to aim for Alfred. My blood runs cold. Not him, I will not let Alfred die.

I turn to my left and right for any weapons. Anything. A small blade that looks like a colonial version of a pocket knife and grip it in my hand. I race over to the man before he feel comfortable enough to shoot at Alfred and not hit his buddy. Alfred gets advantage on his opponent and pieces his stomach with the bayonet. The time slows, feeling like my hand takes minutes to meet the back of his head, knocking him out. I think I'm saying something, some venomous words that be similar to "don't you dare" or something of the sorts, but all I'm focused is slicing the blade across the pale skin of the man's throat.

There was no smoke from the gun. No bullet. Alfred was alive. My eyes relax close, and my hand goes slack, letting the blade slip, cutting into the lifeless body beneath me. But that's when it hits me. I just killed a man. I fall to my knees, my throat tightening, and my voice struggling to come out. I grip the strangers hand in mine, the heat slowly leaving his body.

Someone's calling me, trying to tell me to go, but I don't listen. "I-I'm so sorry." I was never able to even kill a bug and yet here I am, apologizing for the life I took. The life that almost took Alfred's. I whisper, voice thick with emerging tears, "I'm sorry, I didn't even know you… But I had to… You understand, right?" A pair of strong arms wrap around my stomach and pull me up and away from the scene. For a moment, I try to fight, but there's no point, so I cry.

He brings me to the tent where I was originally going to and tells Sarah that she needs to calm me down. Before he returns to the battle, he looks me in the eye and thanks me, telling me he saw how brave I was. I don't think I was very brave.

After some talking, Sarah finally calms me, saying that I "did it to save Alfred," and if I "hadn't done that, he'd be dead." I wonder if this is how everyone out there feels, and not only everyone out there, but in the past and future in all of the world. Is it always worth the guilt?

The gun shots cease and there are calls to retreat, to run, to surrender. That's what we do; we wrap up as much medical supplies as we can and race away with the men. When we are a safe distance away from the hill taken over by the British, we stopped, the commanders giving orders and everyone nodding in agreement. One was for everyone to find medical help who needed it.

I stand on my tiptoes, searching for him, but when the motion of groaning, tired men begins, I have to push through. Head turning each way and I wonder if he's doing the doing the same thing. I see the back of him a few feet away looking around in the crowd, and run over to him.

"Alfred! Are you all right? Do you have any injuries?" I smile and run in front him, but this man is not Alfred, and he gives me a weird look. The happiness fades a little from my eyes and I apologize, "Oh sorry, I thought you were someone else…"

I continue to search with no luck. All around I hear people saying, "Only if we had more ammunition and people", "We did well lads, we proved ourselves." And they did.

I reach out to ask someone where Alfred, but my hand doesn't find anything. Even when I lift my arm, there is no hand that comes from my dress. I bring the invisible limb closer, inspecting it. It's gone, no feeling in it. But it doesn't stop there, my arms are eaten by an invisible, my vision blurring to white.

The white fades, and once again the land is painted on the blank canvas. The picture clears and I find myself looking at another battle, but they're not fighting. Patriots are surrounding the red coats of the British. They're even cornered from the water, French ships blocking them in, not a British ship in sight, confirming that the back up they asked for never came. There are two people talking. This must be Yorktown. This is the end.

A grin spreads across my face, what an opportunity to witness this. When they finish the two men turn to their army and give the news. They cheer, freedom is essentially theirs, they only need the signatures.

This time, my clothes are changed and I am wearing an outfit similar to the other Patriots as I stand side by side with them. My hair is french braided down the middle, but kept underneath a cap. No one notices, they're too busy celebrating.

I make my way through the crowd, maybe he's here. The crowd of men blur together making it harder to concentrate, but I am able to spot the golden locks that could stand out in any crowd. The blonde is hugging a man built strong. He pulls away from the man, and the two share a similar face. They wear identical smiles and they look on the verge of tears. His father. His father is free of the birdcage that had him contained in. They share a few words, some which make Alfred's cheeks heat up. When he turns his head to avoid his father's gaze, he finds mine instead. We look at eachother for a few seconds. I run, faster and faster, the hat that once contained my hair now falls to the ground. My vision blurs, and I close my eyes to let the tears fall.

My feet push off the ground to be swept into a large embrace, my legs wrapping around his middle. Happy, relieved, tears fall onto Alfred's shoulder, and I smile into the crook of his neck. I sigh, "You're alive." I take a deep breath in and can smell the battlefield on his clothes and skin. I breathe out, "You're okay." Finally, I tell him, "You're free."

I am able to feel the corners of his mouth curl into a smile when he responds, "You're back."

I pull back from the hug and cup his face in my hand. I laugh into a small cry, nodding my head and resting my forehead on his, whispering, "I'm back." But I won't be for long, I want to say. _How long _will_ I be here?_

That's when we remember his father. Alfred loosens his grip, and I step down onto the ground. I look at his assumed father (I still don't know for sure) and back to Alfred, asking, "Is this your father?"

Alfred nods, and his father gives a similar question, "Is this the Annabelle you told me of?"

We both freeze, blood rushing to our cheeks, (_...he told his dad about me?_) I play with the end of my braid and answer, "Um, that is my name."

His father laughs, gives an award winning smile (_I can see where Alfred got it from_), and gives a short bow, "I am Daniel Jones. It is a pleasure to meet you."

A give a small curtsey, using the slack in the pants I'm wearing as a 'skirt', and say, "Annabelle Ashe. I have heard many good things about you, sir."

He looks over to Alfred quizzically, "Did you really?"

"Of course she did," Alfred interrupts, "I showed her the coin to explain the revolution, but she seemed like she knows quite a lot on her own."

A small smirk is sent in my direction, sending a pulse of heat through my face. The coin reminds me to ask Daniel, "By the way, how _did_ you get back?"

"Well, the ship I was placed on was invaded by some patriots up north. When I learned that my son was fighting down here, I followed."

_He traveled all of the way to see his son, to let him know he's okay._ I don't really know what to say to this. Nothing I think up shows the amount of respect I have for these two men. Luckily, I'm saved by Alfred who takes a turn in asking a question, "Why did you go after the Battle at Breed's Hill?"

"I had to go. I'm not entirely sure why, but I did."

"I thought something happened to you, I was so worried."

I hung my head in shame, "I know. I'm sorry, but I had no choice." I could see at the edges of my eyes, a frost of white. _Oh no, it's happening again._ "Look, Alfred. I have no time to explain, but I have to go."

"B-but-" Alfred stammers, taking a slight step back. I can see Daniel giving us more privacy when he turns away.

"I know, I just found you, and I don't want to leave, I wanna stay for longer."

"When do you have to go? How long will you be gone?" He comes closer and takes my hand in his as he asks this.

I avoid his gaze, the pain of the truth hurting the both of us, "I'm not entirely sure the exact time when I have to leave, but it could be in a minute. And regarding your other question, I don't think I can ever return."

"Return where? To Yorktown?"

"No, I mean… not here like the place..." I trail, how do I say this? I try again, "I mean here as in this time period."

"What?" He asks almost disbelieving (I say almost, because if you really consider the time I spent here, it shouldn't be that disbelieving). I can feel myself lighter, but none of my body has been disappearing yet.

"Look, I don't know, and I don't want to spend my last moments here trying to explain it." I give his hand a tight squeeze, happy that the limb is still there. I look over his face, ending on his eyes. I try to memorize it, knowing I can't have a picture, "Thank you so much, Alfred. You showed me true patriotism and that we sometimes have to fight to gain our freedom, even if it isn't easy."

He takes a pause to think, then shuffles a hand in his pocket. "Annabelle, I want you to have my coin, the one I showed you in June," he folds the coin into the hand he holds.

"But this is you and your fathers. This means too much to you-"

"No, I want you to have it. If you are leaving, I want something for you to remember me by something that has meaning." He pulls me into a warm hug and I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling my legs slowly fade to nothing.

"Promise me something?" I ask.

"Anything."

"Will you remember me?" I bury my head into his chest, the words are barely audible.

"Of course, if you remember me as well." My waist is becoming fainter.

"I'll always remember you. Will you keep fighting for what's right?"

He nods and adds, "I'll fight for you, even if you're not here."

I feel the tears stinging in my eyes, and I let them go, I let them say a last goodbye. I choke out the words, "I don't wanna leave you."

"I wish you didn't have to go." I crack open my eyes, and the white has spread. My arms are the same translucency as my torso. I'm fighting so hard to stay, but I can feel the pull, coaxing me back.

"I'm sorry."

The rest of my vision fades, and so does by body. As the last part of me slipped away, I was still able to hear Alfred whisper thick with emotion, "I love you."

The sound of cheers and men are replaced by the forced work and side conversations of teenagers. The colonial men's clothing and my braid is replaced by my shorts and shirt, my hair falling straight onto my shoulders. I can feel the tips tickling my skin, the computer mouse under my fingers. My eyelids blink, tired, but something wet escapes. I'm back, but I'm stuck in the present day in school without Alfred. My shoulders feel heavy with the truth.

It's sad when all you wish you can do is go back to dream land. I reach my unoccupied hand wipe the tear, but my fingers are curled around something. _Huh, this wasn't here_… I uncurl them to reveal a coin. The coin with a bird on one side, and a cage on the other.

It wasn't a dream.

I hold the coin up to my mouth, pecking it lightly with my lips before whispering, "I love you too, Alfred."


	4. Chapter 4 - Josiah

***Author's Note***

**This story is also not Hetalia, but really good (and a little heart breaking. Okay a lot). **

Nathan's POV

The sound of a woman's angry voice makes me jolt awake.

"It's not fair!"

"I _know_ 'tis unfair, Georgina. But what can we do? We have to figure out _something_, or we'll lose the farm. Then what?"

I open my eyes underneath my Red Sox cap. Those voices don't sound like Kailee or Annabelle or Mr. Gordon or anyone else in my history class. I slowly pull my cap up - and immediately freeze.

Instead of sitting in class with Kailee and Annabelle, I am suddenly standing on a wide green field underneath a dark blue sky dotted with gray clouds. It looks like a storm is coming. To my left, there are two fences with cows and chickens in them, and to my right, there is a small red house. It looks like I am on a farm.

The woman who had shouted is standing about twenty feet in front of me. She has blonde hair and is wearing a dress that I recognized as one from the Colonial-era. The man, standing next to her, has a letter crumpled in his fist. He is wearing a white shirt, breeches, and boots.

I take a few deep breaths, trying hard not to panic. Where was I and how had I gotten here? I pinch my arm, hard, but nothing happens. That seemed to rule out the possibility that I was having a very bizarre dream.

"Hey - you there! What are you doing here?"

Uh-oh. The man had noticed me. He gestures for me to come closer. I walk slowly toward him.

When I got near enough to see him properly, the angry look on his face falters and his scowl fades.

"S- Samuel?"

"I - what?" I have no idea what was going on. What the heck was I doing here? Who did he think I was?

"Samuel!" he rushes forward and seizes my soldiers. "Samuel!"

The woman runs towards me, too. "No - Josiah! 'Tis not Samuel. You know that Samuel… well…"

The man releases me, his face a combination of embarrassment and devastation. "I know, Georgina. It's just… he looks so much like him…"

"Um…" I stammer. "Um..." I can't think of anything to say.

The man seems unable to speak. I can't figure out if he is angry, embarrassed, or sad. He takes several deep breaths and turns away from me, hiding his face.

The woman steps forward, her face polite but a little angry. "This is our farm you are on. May I ask what you are doing here?"

"Um," I say. "I'm - I'm - I'm lost."

The man frowns. "Lost?"

"Yeah. I, uh, was, um, er… taking a walk. And I got lost."

It was a lame lie and I knew it, but what else was I supposed to say? It looked like I had just fallen into one of my history textbooks. I was evidently in the Colonial period, and I had no idea how to get out - or how I had gotten there.

"Taking a walk, around here?" the man snorts disbelievingly. He turns back to me, and I can't read by his face what he is feeling. "When there's a storm brewing? Tell me the truth, lad."

"I…" I desperately try to think of something I remembered from history class. Of course! The Revolutionary War!

"The truth is," I sigh, trying to look pitiful, "is that I ran away from my parents. They were - um -" What was the word? Think! Oh, yeah! "Loyalists!"

The man frowns again. "Tories, you mean?"

"Um - yeah. Tories. And I'm a patriot. So I ran away. I want us to be free from England. Go America!" I shout, pumping my fist in the air.

The man smiles grudgingly. "Evidently you have been on the run for many years, lad, and have failed to hear the news. The war is over. It's been over years ago."

"Oh," I say. "Well - I haven't really been in touch with people. Um - would you mind telling me where I am?"

He raises his eyebrows. "You are in Massachusetts. The year is 1787 - perhaps you have forgotten that too?"

I try to laugh. "And, uh… who are you?"

The man gives a little bow. "Josiah Smith, at your service. This is my wife, Georgina. You have wandered onto our farm, although…" He sighs, looking down at the letter in his fist. "Perhaps it will not be ours for long."

"Why?" I ask, curious.

"Haven't you heard?" Josiah sighs heavily. "The government is raising taxes to try to pay off our war debts. Us poor farmers cannot afford to pay more… we may lose the farm, if we cannot pay."'

"What? That's awful!" I exclaim. "Why should you guys have to pay? That's totally unfair!"

"Yes… but that's beside the point. What can we do?"

Josiah falls silent, evidently lost in thought. I stay quiet, too, trying to think of what to say next, but just then my stomach let out an enormous rumble. I hadn't had time to have breakfast before I left for school this morning, so I am starving.

Josiah glances at me, looking sympathetic. "Have you eaten at all today?" he asks.

"No," I admit. Then I tell a lie. "I've been wandering about trying to figure out how to find food and shelter. So far I've had no luck."

"Poor lad," says Josiah. "You must have been very brave to run away from your parents. But 'twas right of you to do so; America _should_ be free and independent from Britain. Well, you must come to my house and have a meal." He glances up at the sky, where the clouds are getting darker. "You may stay here until this storm clears up. You can't be walking around in this weather."

"Josiah," says his wife gently. "Do you really think we can afford to feed another person? In the present situation, I mean… money _is_ tight."

"Nonsense, Georgina," says Josiah. "It is common decency. The boy has obviously been traveling for a very long time… What is your name, lad?"

"I - Nathan. Nathan Krugle."

"Well, Nathan, you may go on into our house. Georgina, please fix him something to eat while I go tend to the chickens and cattle."

Josiah walks away and Georgina leads me towards the house. She does not seem angry at her husband for allowing me to stay, nor at me for showing up and getting free food and shelter.

"I must apologize for my lack of hospitality, Nathan," says Georgina. "At this point in time, we are struggling to put food on the table, even for just the two of us. We cannot afford the government's taxes much longer, and when our money runs out, we will lose our farm."

I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," I mutter. "Thanks for letting me stay at your house."

She does not say anything, but smiles at me. She and her husband seem nice enough, and I know that I'm very lucky to find them here, in this strange place that I had just been somehow transported to.

The interior of the house is dark, with only a few guttering candles to light it up. Georgina leads me to the sitting room with a stiff red sofa in it and instructs me to wait there while she gets something for me to eat. I sit down and look around. In the dim light, I can only just make out a large portrait on the mantle. It is of a boy. He looks about my age, and he has the same messy brown hair as me. Except for the sad smile and the striking light blue eyes, we could have been twins, we looked so much alike. I wonder who he was.

Georgina returns with a hunk of bread and a few slices of cheese on a wooden plate. I murmur a word of thanks and then lean forward and attack the bread and cheese. The bread is tough, and the cheese tastes funny - not like anything that I have ever eaten before. But I wasn't complaining. I had devoured all the food by the time Georgina had returned with a cup of water for me.

I drink the water and set the cup down on the small table in front of me. Georgina glances at the empty plate, then back at me, amused.

"You must have been very hungry," she says gently. "Have you been traveling long?"

"Um - yeah," I reply.

"Where are you from?"

"Philadelphia," I say automatically, then clapped a hand to my mouth. I can't remember if Philadelphia had even been around in 1786. But Georgina just nods and remarked: "I imagine it must be very exciting in Philadelphia, being the nation's capitol and all."

I look at her, completely nonplussed. "Philadelphia isn't the capitol. It's in…" I stop myself just in time. I had almost said the capitol was in Washington. I fake a coughing fit to distract her, hoping she hadn't heard.

But Georgina just nods. "Ay, I know what you mean," she says, looking thoughtful. "'Tis true that some people think the capitol ought to be in Virginia."

We fall silent. The only sound in the house is the steady _drip drip drip_ of the rain on the roof. The storm has started. I cast around wildly for something to say and my eyes landed on the portrait of the boy.

"Who's that?" I ask, nodding towards it.

Georgina turns and examines the portrait. Sadness fills every particle of her face, and I can see that her eyes are filled with sorrow.

"That is my son, Samuel," she says quietly. "He died in the battle of Yorktown, fighting to keep our country free from the British."

"Oh," I say, wishing I hadn't asked. "I'm… I'm so sorry."

"I must say, you look extraordinarily like Samuel. From a distance, it is easy to mistake you for him. That is why my husband… well…"

I remember how Josiah had grabbed my shoulders and shouted "Samuel!" I remembered the hope in his eyes, and only now did I realize that he had been hopeful that his son had come back, somehow.

It makes me sad to think of how devastated the Smiths are over the loss of their son. If _I_ had died, I really don't think my parents would be too sad at all. They hardly know me. My mom and dad got divorced when I was three. I live with my mom and stepdad, although they're gone most of the time doing one thing or another. I've only seen my dad four times since my parents got divorced, and that was thirteen years ago. He never calls or writes to me. I wish he cared as much about me as Josiah did for Samuel.

I was startled out of my thoughts when the door bangs open and Josiah runs in, looking soaked. I can see the rain coming down in droves outside.

Josiah closes the door and crosses to the sitting room, his wet boots squeaking on the floor. He looks very excited about something.

"Georgina!" Josiah yells, running a hand through his wet reddish-brown hair. " I have some good news!"

"What is it, dear?" she asks him, turning away from the portrait. I can see that she is trying to compose herself for his sake.

"I was just talking to that farmer - Daniel Shays. Remember he came by a few times, asking if I would go marching with him on the Massachusetts Supreme Court? I always refused, you know; I thought it better to stay out of trouble. But now that we might be losing the farm, it can't hurt. I feel like I have to do _something_."

"Josiah, what are you saying?" asks Georgina.

"He's organizing another rebellion." Josiah's eyes glitter. "It's happening in two days, and I'm going to be a part of it."

"Another rebellion!" Georgina clutches at her heart, looking faint. "Goodness, Josiah, do you really think it wise to take part? We don't want any trouble! And I… if you got hurt, I…"

"But don't you see - this will save us _from_ trouble, if it works," he says excitedly. "We're going to go to the Massachusetts arsenal to steal some weapons before we march on Boston. It's brilliant! People will have to listen to us if we've got weapons and are marching around in the city!"

Georgina frowns. "Well, if you're sure, Josiah. But be careful. I couldn't stand it if… if you were killed, too…"

Josiah looks away. When he next spoke his voice is soft, pleading. "Don't you see that I have to do this, Georgina? I fought in the war for freedom. But we don't have that yet - not completely. I've got to keep fighting until we do."

"I know," says Georgina, and goes to hug him. "I understand. Just be careful, that's all I'm asking."

"Of course I will." Josiah turns and notices me. "Did you get Nathan something to eat?"

"Yes, he had the remnants of last night's supper."

Josiah smiles at me and says, "Well, it's getting late. Of course you can stay here for the night; we just have to decide where to put you. Let's see, maybe you can sleep here, on the couch."

I open my mouth to say that would be fine, but Georgina interrupts me. "He can sleep in Samuel's room, can't he, Josiah?" she asks. "It's much warmer up there."

Josiah jaw tightens and he seems to stop breathing for a moment. He glances at the portrait of his son, then down at me. He smiles, painfully.

"Of course he can sleep there," he says. "I just - of course."

That night, as I lie in the hard bed listening to the rain pound on the roof, I think about all that has happened to me. I don't know why I was here, or if I would ever get back to my real life, but I had to admit that I was happy here, with Josiah and Georgina. And with that comforting thought in my head, I fall asleep.

Josiah shakes me awake at dawn the next morning looking excited.

"Nathan, I was thinking you could help me get ready for the rebellion the day after tomorrow," he says hopefully.

"Huh?" I yawn and rub my eyes. I always have a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, and I wish I could just sleep some more, but I don't want to upset Josiah.

"Sure," I yawn. I roll out of bed and look around for my shoes. They are nowhere to be found. Josiah smiles and hands me a pair of boots.

"These are much more practical," he says as I put them on. "The shoes you were wearing yesterday… well…"

He smiles. I fight back a laugh and grin. My basketball shoes are the height of fashion in 2014, but apparently not so in 1787.

We go outside to feed the chickens and cows and do chores around the farm. I learn how to hold a chicken and milk a cow without it kicking me.

"Hey, Josiah," I ask him as we headed towards the house for lunch. "I was wondering… can I go with you to the rebellion?"

Josiah looks sideways at me and contemplates my request for a moment. Then he says seriously: "I won't lie to you, Nathan. It could be very dangerous. But if you want to go, I won't stop you. I think it's admirable that you want to fight for your country."

"Thanks," I say. "I really want to go." The idea of taking part in history is too tempting to pass up. Last night, I had struggled to remember something about this rebellion, but all I could think of was Mr. Gordon briefly mentioning it. "Shays' Rebellion," Mr. Gordon had called it. I don't remember how it would turn out, but as long as I am stuck in 1787, I might as well do _something_.

Josiah smiles and puts an arm around my shoulders. "All right, then. The day after tomorrow, you and I will go and fight for our freedom. We'll make history!"

I fight back a chuckle at that. _If only he knew…_

The day before the rebellion, Josiah taught me how to load and fire a musket, "just in case," as he said. It was a lot more complicated than guns are today. To get it ready to shoot, you had to put powder in the barrel and then put the ramrod in the musket, then put more powder in the pan. It could take a while to get ready, which sort of defeated the point of a gun. But I didn't say anything. I figured the musket must seem pretty advanced to Josiah.

That night at dinner, Georgina didn't eat much. She seemed terribly worried, yet determined not to say anything. Josiah tried to reassure her that everything would be all right, but she didn't seem too convinced.

The day of the rebellion, Josiah and I left for Daniel Shays' house a little later then we had planned due to Georgina's long goodbye. She had hugged both of us and given Josiah a painting to take with him, "for luck," she said. It was a painting of the Smith family that she had done; she had also, I learned, done the portrait of Samuel that was over the mantel in the sitting room. In the painting, Josiah had his arm around Georgina's shoulders. Samuel was standing in front of his parents, smiling that same sad smile. It was the last painting she had done of their family while Samuel was still alive. Josiah had teared up a little at the gift and put it in his pocket before hugging his wife again. Then we had set off across the field, which was still wet from the rain.

I struggle to keep up with Josiah's long strides. He has a musket slung over his left shoulder and a hat atop his head, covering his reddish-brown hair. We don't say much during the walk, concentrating mostly on getting to our destination.

When we get to Daniel Shays' house, we can see a large crowd of farmers milling around outside. Only a few had muskets, so I assume that was why we were going to steal some weapons.

While I was taking in the view of the crowd, I saw a the front door of the house open and a man step outside. He shouts something that I couldn't hear, and the crowd cheers and surges forward. Josiah shouts in my ear, "He said that we're going to march to the arsenal now!"

I try to keep close to Josiah as the crowd jostled forward, heading east. As we march, I look around at the countryside. Living in a crowded city in New York, I'm not used to the sprawling green fields dotted with horses and cows. As we get closer to the city, though, the fields became cobblestone streets with big, fancy houses lining them.

"We're nearing the arsenal now!" says Josiah. His eyes are sparkling with excitement.

"Hey… Josiah, can I ask you a question?" I say suddenly. I have been meaning to ask him this for a long time.

"Of course."

"I was wondering… why does the rebellion mean so much to you? I know if it works, you can keep your farm, but other than that… why else would you put yourself in so much danger?" I asked. I was truly curious to know his answer.

Josiah ponders this question for a moment. Then he sighs. "I suppose… we're all fighting for freedom, Nathan. It started with the Revolutionary War. We wanted to be free from Britain, free and independent. We wanted to be able to determine our own fate. I fought in the Revolutionary War, you know, as well as Samuel. He died fighting for our country."

"How did he die?"

Josiah swallows. I immediately regret asking the question and am about to change the subject, but he clears his throat and continues: "We were fighting the British at the battle of Yorktown. Samuel and I were next to each other, firing our muskets at the British. A… a bullet was headed toward me and I did not notice it… Samuel pushed me out of the way, and he saved me, but… the bullet struck him instead."

I clamp my hand to my mouth, horror struck. "I'm - I'm so sorry," I choke out. All I can think is _poor Samuel and Josiah_.

Josiah clears his throat again. "Thank you. But I did not really answer your question. We won the war, as you know; we are now a free country. America is its own nation. But we are still not free. From Britain, yes, but not from _ourselves_, if you know what I mean. America cannot be truly free if there are unjust laws, like how the government is raising the taxes on farmers. 'Tis unfair, and that is why I want to do something about it. I wanted Samuel to grow up to be free, free from Britain and unfair rules. Now that Samuel is gone, I… I suppose I am fighting for innocent people like you. You need to be free from injustice. You… you do remind me a lot of Samuel, you know. But anyway, I suppose that is why I am putting my life on the line," Josiah finishes, his voice husky.

I don't know what to say. It strikes me how incredibly brave this man is, and how noble, and how Samuel had been was so brave and noble, too. But before I can think or say anything else, a shout comes from the front of the crowd.

"The governor's sent a militia to defend the arsenal!"

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. There is suddenly silence, then a voice, loud and gruff, shouts: "Leave now, or we will start to fire!"

Several panicked screams surface and a few people bolt and run in the opposite direction.

"Cowards," Josiah mutters.

I nod, but I feel a chill of fear wash through me. I don't know how this battle will end. Would the militia kill us all? Would it be better to grab Josiah and run while we still had the chance?

Josiah must sense what I am thinking, because he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Steady," he says quietly. "They are most likely bluffing."

I swallow hard and nod. Suddenly I hear a voice from the very front of the crowd scream, "Attack!"

"That's Daniel Shays," mutters Josiah just as several muskets go of with a _bang_. The air is fill with smoke and it is difficult to see. Screams come from every side around me. More muskets go off, and Josiah grabs my hand.

"Stay close to me, Samuel!" he yells, as I bend over, coughing. I dimly register that he is back to calling me Samuel.

Josiah has knelt down on the cobblestone street and is readying his musket. The people in front of us had cleared, and now we were at the front of the crowd. I can see the militia in front of the huge building that was the arsenal, preparing their guns to fire a second time. One man finishes before the others. He whips his gun around and shoots into the crowd…

Directly at me.

It is as though everything is happening in slow motion. Josiah, who looks up up to fire his musket, sees the man fire. He throws down his musket and leaps to his feet.

"Get out of the way, Samuel! Run!" he yells, pushing me roughly out of the path of the bullet.

I fall on the street hard, cutting open my palm on the rocks. I scramble to my feet and duck behind a house. I was all right! Josiah had saved me!

I peek out from behind the wall to call to Josiah and my stomach lurches. A man is lying face down on the ground. His hat has fallen off, and there is no mistaking that reddish-brown hair…

The bullet had hit Josiah.

I think I screamed. I can't remember. I dart out from behind the wall and drag Josiah behind the house with me.

I turn him over. The bullet had hit him directly in the chest, and blood is seeping through his coat. He is barely alive.

Tears sting at my eyes. "Josiah…" I cry. "Josiah, no! You - you saved me. You were like - you were like my dad…"

He grits his teeth against the pain of the gunshot wound. Tears are coursing down my cheeks. Josiah reaches his arm up and grabs my wrist. "Samuel…"

He is gasping for breath now. Words fall from his mouth, forming into a sentence: "Samuel… Georgina… tell her… I love her… I'm sorry I went… I'm sorry…"

I try to quiet him, but he insists on choking out another sentence.

"Remember… freedom. Remember… what I said… I wanted… you to be… free… Samuel… remember… freedom…"

He gasps and chokes, and then suddenly his eyes widen. "I can… I can see Samuel… "

A smile forms across his face and he reaches his hand up as though to touch something, but then the hand thuds down and his eyes close, almost peacefully. Josiah Smith is dead.

I kneel by his side, sobbing. The bangs of the gunshots seem distant, as though I am hearing them from a long way away.

Josiah had been so kind to me. He had given me food and shelter. He had been like a father to me, more like my father than my _real_ father had ever been. And he had saved my life.

I must have sat with him for over an hour. I thought about Georgina, and what she would do without him, and how she would feel knowing that she had lost both her husband and her son in the fight for freedom. I thought about Josiah, and what a terrible ending he had had to his life. I thought about Samuel, and I realized that in the battle, Josiah must have thought I _was_ Samuel, and he did exactly what Samuel had done for him, pushing him out of the way, taking the bullet for himself…

Night falls as more tears flow down my cheeks.

The sky is dark when my sobs finally subside. I wipe tears off my cheeks and, as I do so, I notice a piece of parchment sticking out of Josiah's pocket. I pull it out and turn it over. It is a portrait, the portrait of the Smith family that Georgina had given her husband before the battle.

I gaze at the portrait in my hands for who knows how long, looking straight at Josiah, the father I had never known.

Suddenly I notice that my hand holding the portrait seemed… _lighter_ than before. It looked like… I gasp. I was disappearing. My whole body is evaporating into a white mist…

I had one more look at Josiah's face, and then I was gone.

_Poof!_

I land in a chair in front of a computer. Annabelle and Kailee are sitting on either side of me, each of them looking as dazed as I feel.

I feel my arms to make sure I was there, that my body isn't disappearing again. No, I am okay. Had the whole thing been a dream? It had seemed so real…

The tears in my eyes blur my vision as I look down at my hands. Despite my sadness, a small smile curves on my lips. It hadn't been a dream, for there, clutched tightly in my hand, is Josiah's portrait.


	5. Chapter 5 - Epilogue

The steady ticking of the clock and the side conversations in the room fill the three students' ears. Feeling slowly spreads to the tips of their fingers and the computer screen fills their vision. It now reads: "Error - this program is no longer working." Each teenager looks in their hands to the small token they received, or in Kailee's case lost, and smiles, knowing it was real. A portrait, a coin, and the lack of a phone.

Their eyes each glance at the other two, silently asking if they had experienced what they themselves did. No words were needed; they could see the answer in each other's eyes.

Annabelle looks at them, wiping away a escaped tear and asks hesitantly, "Did you guys…?" No one can finish this question. They all stare at each other, occasionally looking at their hands with mouths open in the middle of trying to speak. There are tears in Nathan's eyes, but he is smiling.

Mr. Gordon comes up behind them and asks, "Do you all have an idea for your project?"

Annabelle, Kailee, and Nathan look at each other with raised eyebrows."Yes," they all say at the same time. "Oh, yes, we do."


End file.
